


Ephemeral Anger and Meager Meditation

by C_Syns



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: Gen, Meditation, brief mentions of Leo and Donnie, tcesters don't interact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26262091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_Syns/pseuds/C_Syns
Summary: “You could put those ninja skills to use and be done with him by tomorrow. You know where he lives.” Grandpa Sho said, slyly.Splinter considered it, stroking his beard as he thought.“No, no, no. Orange would never forgive me.”
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 48





	Ephemeral Anger and Meager Meditation

Splinter lowered the punching bag from it’s usual, Raphael meant, height to one suited more for a rat of his stature. He wrapped his hands, calmly and took great care to do it correctly. He stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles, he dropped his arms and rolled his shoulders and head. After one more deep breath he wailed on the bag.

The satisfying thud of his fists against the nylon of the bag, or the canvas patches that had been added to it over the years filled the room. He struck it ferociously and fast, snarling the entire time. The bag swung, jerking and dancing between the flurry of punches and kicks and strikes of his tail. 

Even though he'd just started the pace he set had his breath coming short and fast. Still he didn't slow down. He concentrated on the jolt that went through his hands and arm, the way it felt like a vibration went up his tail. 

Splinter did not think of any enemies, if he did he was sure that he'd do more than punch the punching bag, it was patched and repaired enough without him using his claws on it. Even so he ended up digging his claws into his palms, wincing at their bite.

When the garage door opened Splinter paused, the punching bag still swung with momentum and knocked against him. He stopped it, with a sharp motion. In the garage door was Raphael.

“Oh, sorry.” He said, staring at Splinter.

“Red, what are you doing here.”

“Uh I was gonna do. That.” Raph pointed at the punching bag “I’m just, I got thrown in jail for no reason I don’t even look like either of the guys they said I was.” Raph scowled and clenched his fists and took a swing at the bandanakin with the red bandanna. The head flew off and landed somewhere behind the turtle tank.

“But uh, if you’re busy I can go lift weights or something else to cool down.”

“No. no it’s fine.” Splinter said, instantly. He set the bag back up to it’s taller height and gestured towards it. “You go ahead. I just felt out of practice.” He held his shoulder and rolled his arm. “You know?”

Raph nodded, his brow still furrowed, frowning slightly. 

“Besides I’m going to miss my shows!” Splinters smile was wide, it showed off all his teeth. He gave Raph a wide berth on his way out, and the moment he was out, with the garage door closed behind him his smile dropped.

He went to the living room and found Donatello and Leonardo there. They had a racing game set up and Donatello was shouting and wildly turning the controller in time with turns in the game. Leo was laughing and going on about how he was dominating the game and would be the winner. Again.

Splinter sighed and turned to the kitchen. 

In the kitchen Michelangelo was cooking. There were stacks of bowls and two cutting boards, with knives sitting on them. The remains of cut vegetables, and an array of open spices were on the counters.

Mikey stopped what he was doing, rereading a recipe in the official Rupert Swaggart Condescending Kitchen Cookbook, and looked up at Splinter.

“Hi Dad!” 

Splinter clenched his fist.

“Orange, what are you doing?”

“Oh well, sounds like everyone had a pretty bad time, so I’m cooking a special dinner!”

“That is very nice of you. What are you making?”

“Uh well we didn’t get anything so it’s gonna be a vegetable stew but I’m using the seasoning for a boeuf bourguignon.”

“Oh.” Splinter said, nodding as if he knew what that meant.

“Well that sounds like it will be something.” He turned back towards the door.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Oh I had come out for some tea, but it looks like you need the kitchen a little more.”

“Don’t be silly I can just.” Mikey looks at the stove, with every burner full “Uh. Hold on.”

“No, there is no need. I can have tea later.” Splinter insisted, shaking his head and backing out of the kitchen, smiling with all his teeth. He retreated to his bedroom.

He climbed into his bed, sitting in the center, and he picked up his pillow and tore it in two, batting peaked out from the torn side and he took each one in his hands again to tear in half as well. He flung all four pieces away to discrete corners of the room.

He sat there, scowling and glaring at the pieces of pillow.

“I am going to have to clean those up.” He said to himself. His shoulders sank and he fell back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, the familiar brink that had never, and would never quite be totally clean.

He sighed and pressed his hands to his face, dragging them down and putting down the lower lid of his eyes.

“Okay, pull yourself together Splinter. So what if he calls Draxum his dad. You already knew he considered him family.” He said, under his breath to himself. He sat up and hopped off the bed. He paced to and fro, arms behind his back.

“Uh. I have never regretted not having anyone besides my children to talk to more.” He said, to his empty room. His ears lay flat against his head as he scowled at no one.

“That guy. Tried to kill them and he calls him dad. Ugh.” He shook his head. “I can’t even get mad about it now. I thanked him for turning me into a rat, and it’d probably make Orange cry.” He grasped his own ears and pulled them back, grunting as his eyelids and the corners of his mouth stretched back slightly.

Splinter stood there, pulling at his ears for a long moment. 

“I hate this.” He said, quietly he let go of his ears. “I really should try and get to the Hidden City, maybe find some adult friends. Or a therapist.” He said to himself, crossing his arms again. “Nice reason to make friends, to make them listen to me complain about Draxum.” 

He collected the remains of his pillow and dumped them into a little pile, in the corner of the room. He sighed and stood there, looking down, before lowering himself to the floor and crossing his legs.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this.” He said, he took a deep breath and worked on relaxing; he laid his hands on his thighs and closed his eyes. His ears and tail twitched restlessly. 

“I never was very good at this.” He said, eyes still closed “Come on, rat, you used to practice with Jiji, figure it out.” he took his tail into his hands and stilled his ears. He focused on breathing. In and out. For a minute. For two. For five. He did remember how to meditate, as time flowed by with him sitting and looking inward.

He didn’t open his eyes, but he saw that familiar room he’d practiced meditating in, so long ago. It was cramped, with extra storage for everyone's clothes along the wall, the sun was filtering in through the window as it set. Splinter’s eyes and frown softened at the nostalgia of it.

Grandpa Sho hit him, right in the center of his head, between his ears. Splinter yelped and put both hands over his head.

“What was that for?”

“You’re not trying.”

“I am trying. I’m just out of practice.”

“Making excuses Yoshi?”

“No! I really am trying, I just don’t know what to do.”

“You could put those ninja skills to use and be done with him by tomorrow. You know where he lives.” Grandpa Sho said, slyly.

Splinter considered it, stroking his beard as he thought.

“No, no, no. Orange would never forgive me.”

“Yes, I suppose he’d put it together. He can be perceptive, when it suits him.”

“Yes he can.” Splinter smiled. He looked at Grandpa Sho, he looked exactly as Splinter remembered, solemn, with his eyebrows low over his eyes, and a slight frown on his face. He stood with his hands clasped behind him, the light was gold and soft and it almost made Shoe seem softer. Almost.

“What do you think of my sons?” Splinter asked, before he was even aware he was asking it.

“What do I think of your sons?” Grandpa Sho thought for a moment

“They are all strong. Michelangelo has a heart that a saint would covet. He’s vibrant, and bright, and his art elevates this sewer you call home. Leonardo is clever, too clever by half. He’s quick, and that competitive streak has done him well in honing skills. Donatello is smart, not only could he change the world he surely will. He’s got the inventive mind to see his ideas before they exist and the drive to create them himself. And Raphael, he would protect the world if he could, he’s caring and built like a fucking truck.”

“So you approve of my sons?”

“No.”

“What?” Splinter leapt up, pointing at Grandpa Sho, scowling. Sho hit Splinter between the ears again.

“I’m not really your Jiji, I’m a manifestation of your own mind. I just know what you know!”

“Oh. Well you could have pretended!”

“Don’t you think you’ve lived enough of your life pretending already?”

“You’re sure you’re not Jiji?”

“Pretty sure.”

Splinter sighed.

“You could always put that scroll back together.”

“What, no it gives bad advice!”

Grandpa Sho, or the manifestation that looked like him, just like him shrugged which ruined the illusion.

“This is pointless. I’m leaving.”

Splinter shook his head and opened his eyes. His room was the same, the torn pillow pieces still sat in a pile, and he had the vague feeling in the back of his head that he should have listened more and practiced more, a vague feeling that felt like getting hit in the head with a scroll. 

Splinter slunk out of his room, unseen and unheard, like a shadow in the night, to the paper shredder. He picked up the whole thing and tiptoed back to his room, with it perched on his shoulders. It was shoved into the back over of his room, behind the shelf full of original Lou Jitsu reels, and partially under the flashy clothes splitting out from the dresser, it was barely to be seen at all. Splinter squinted and still saw the remains of the aged, ancient paper in the can.

“Just in case.”

He said to himself.

“Hey dad!” Mikey yelled, and it shook the lair. Splinter didn’t feel the need to grind his teeth at the word. He popped his head out of his room.

“Yes?”

“I cleared a burner if you still want tea!”

“Thank you!”

He paused and looked back at the sliver of the shredder that you could see from the door. Even if he still felt angry at the sound of the word dad it was farther away, less hot, and didn’t sting the same. He took a deep, steady breath, and set that aside, somewhere in his chest, to think about later, alone, and went to make tea and listen to Michelangelo tell him about the finer points of making the perfect vegetable stew

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a single rat dad, raising four kids on my own, in a sewer. I think if I was I would be really mad to hear one of them call some dude they just met and tried to kill every one of us dad. But you also can't yell at your kid for it. And if you already forgave the guy for turning you into a rat, it not like you can take it back and go beat him up either.
> 
> Also it wasn't going to take a turn into meditation but like. Grandpa Sho.
> 
> Also I am assuming that recounting his memory that Mikey did specifically say his two dads out loud to the dumpster at large, but like. Flashbacks are hard to tell.


End file.
